


soda colored summer

by fonte (orphan_account)



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Brazil, Canon Compliant, Fluff, Getting Together, Implied Sexual Content, Love Confessions, M/M, Mutual Pining, Post-Time Skip, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-31
Updated: 2020-07-31
Packaged: 2021-03-05 01:15:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,175
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25146067
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/fonte
Summary: Clouds of sand particles wisp in the air whenever Hinata jumps, and he's soaring, flying, past the indigo blue and the peachy white to the backside of the stars. Maybe he was never meant to stay in place; always trajecting towards galaxies in figments of black and orange and red on his back.In which Oikawa falls a little clumsily, a little bit in awe and a little more in love, within the span of a week.
Relationships: Hinata Shouyou/Oikawa Tooru
Comments: 62
Kudos: 405





	soda colored summer

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you enjoy! I had a lot of fun writing this.  
> Title for fic is english translated lyrics from Nagi by Ray.  
> 

Love was something unfathomable; an enigma of the mind, the paradox of the heart, and the melody of the soul. It was the beginning of stories and the conclusion of tragedies. Sometimes it leads you by the hand, gentle as the caress of the mother, and sometimes it takes a single step before your world explodes with the cosmos filling the sky. Sometimes, it could be nothing special or poetic; it could just exist as a visceral realization, a quiet acknowledgment of the undeniable, the inevitable.

_It’s easy,_ Oikawa thinks, _to fall for Hinata._

Falling for Hinata hadn’t been like how he fell in love with volleyball. Volleyball was his passion, his driving force for everything in his life. It permeated in every step he walked, every breath he took, and every decision he made. There was no hesitation when it came to volleyball; he knew what he was doing, always having a plan set out or a formula to follow. And whenever it fails, he knows that it’ll be okay because all possible contingencies will lead back to volleyball. There was no other option to take, no other road to traverse. 

It made him happy. It made him feel satisfied in a way that nothing else could fulfill, so inexplicably part of him that it was impossible to find out where it started and ended. 

It had been love—a deep, profound love that his life was built around—but it hadn't been like loving Hinata Shouyou.

Loving Hinata didn’t come with a plan. There was no next step because loving Hinata meant allowing yourself to be left stranded at sea, navigating the deep waters to reach the light that was Hinata's utter brilliance. It was to take chance by the hand and leap off the bridge into a new beginning, to walk a brand new story with no conclusion in sight, only carrying the hope of writing an ending with them by your side. 

Oikawa didn't do well with connecting with other people. He was a person who kept everyone at arm’s length and never delved too much into himself when asked. He played the role of a confident, flirty teenager with ease like a second skin, yet remained untouchable despite being surrounded by others. There was a wall built around him, so thin that others didn't notice, but it trapped Oikawa in his own small world where no one could bring him harm. 

Oikawa was not a liar by any means. He might have thrown a few, teasing remarks that he never followed through at his teammates, but he is a person who takes each word seriously and pulls them through to the absolute end. He didn't try to manipulate people with his facade, but throughout the years, a filter has been placed over his mouth. It scrapped his words down to the very bones and plucked the impurities out, all of his vulnerabilities, all his insecurities, and threw them out for the dogs to eat. It's him, but it was as if it was muted down, with all of the colors sapped out until it was bare and polished. 

He does not connect, because he is afraid. He is afraid, so he protects himself in the deepest part of the shadows, wrapped in the cloak of someone who dreams too brightly and yearns for things he knows he doesn't deserve.

He didn't expect for a ball flying past his face, and a small, satisfied smile from some unknown middle blocker he'd never seen before for it all to come crashing down. 

The thud of the ball slamming against the ground behind him, matching the beat of his heart. The stranger's gaze meeting his, bright and unwavering. A net separating them, sweat trickling down his skin, the scuffing of shoes against the polished floor. A captain in teal. A spiker in white. 

Even after many, many years, Oikawa would still remember this particular, unassuming moment in his life. Vividly and clearly, as fresh as summer leaves, never losing its color.

It was like a poorly timed joke. Oikawa had forced himself to remain steady for nearly his whole life, always walking despite the thorns and needles that pricked his skin, and it was this brief moment of eye contact in a practice match that made him spectacularly stumble in a fit of awe and fascination. 

Hinata Shouyou came barreling into his life—a little loud, a little brash—with the finality of someone witnessing the end of the world and decided to ruin all of his plans.

Of _course,_ this was the most real thing he'd ever experienced before. Although Oikawa was honest and blunt to a fault, he was rarely ever _real,_ and Hinata, he soon came to learn, was the most sincere, genuine person on this planet. 

Hinata was everything Oikawa was not, and he was everything that he wanted. 

There was something about that small middle blocker that demanded everyone’s attention on him. Even off the court, it was hard for Oikawa to take his eyes off him. Every time he so much glanced away, Hinata would surprise him yet again with something even better, attempt something even more stunning that took Oikawa’s breath away. 

He was spiteful at first, resentful at his own inability to overcome that one last hurdle to get the chance to nationals that came in the form of orange hair and brown eyes that gleamed like molten sunshine. Bitter that his last chance to bring victory to his team was taken away from him, that his chance of revenge against Ushijima never came to fruition because he wasn’t enough, and his efforts to surpass him were all in vain because he was born different. Oikawa knew that he was a good player, but even with a team that supported his back, he could never escape from the geniuses’ shadows. 

The world was fair and completely unfair. Although Oikawa didn't have the natural prowess like Ushijima, or the innate talent to make accurate tosses like Kageyama, he still pushed forward despite himself, fueled by spite and determination to prove himself. Because at the end of the day, Oikawa was someone filled with hate as much as he was filled with passion, and he was a person who worked twice as hard but fell just as easily. He was someone who loved so deeply, so intensely and intimately, that he didn’t spare any to give to himself.

Maybe that’s where it all started; the root of Oikawa’s imbalance, the perilous tipping of his scale that threw his world into a loop. It remained etched into his heart, growing little by little as he watched Hinata reach greater heights, becoming captivated by Hinata’s reason to smile, of his laugh, of his talent that seems to remain unshakable at the summit of the world. 

But as days went on and he watched Hinata faraway, he realized that something in him grew as well. His envy became curiosity, and his curiosity became endearment. Something was taking root deep inside him, and it was growing day by day. Some things required constant care and nourishment, but there were also things that grew all on their own, straining and struggling against tempests and floods just to reach towards the sun. 

But Oikawa didn’t have the luxury to think about his feelings when the end of the school year was right around the corner. He was stuck in a limbo of time, unable to move forward or turn back. He had been running for years, always hoping for next year, the next time he would beat the so-called 'geniuses' and make it to nationals. But there was no next time now. This journey he had been on for years was coming to an end, and all the things he had experienced to get up to this point will become hazy recollections that he will laugh about in the future. The joys, the sorrows, the regrets, the memories—it will cascade down and become the embers that will light up his new beginning.

His passion for volleyball did not end in high school. There was still a stage to be played at, an unknown view he wanted to see on the other side of the tall, looming wall blocking his way. And he knew that if he wanted to beat everyone here, he had to leave everything behind and start anew. To leave behind his mother who cheered him on, his best friend who’s been with him for nearly a decade and became his pillar of support, and his teammates who will remain in Japan and move towards their own goals.

And that meant leaving Hinata as well. To part ways with the small first year that smiled so radiantly, that moved so freely and squeezed his way into Oikawa’s mind and refused to come out.

The phone that held his one-way ticket to Argentina never felt heavier.

_‘It’s just a childish infatuation_ ,’ he tried to convince himself in the dead of the night, 10 hours before he boarded the airplane to fly across the world. Maybe if he repeated it over and over again, it would become true. _‘It was just a fleeting crush. In a year or so, I’ll get over this.’_ He would probably never see Hinata again until the far distant future, where they stood on a different stage in opposing teams once again. Although his decision to follow his role model and train under him was unexpected, he knew that this was a chance for him to search for that one moment where his talent would bloom, where he would become someone strong enough to stand alone.

But he knew. He knew because he was Oikawa Tooru, and Oikawa Tooru was never one to half-ass things. When he loved something, he loved it to the point where it encapsulated his being. It made him clumsy, it made him fumble around with words stuck in his throat and a voice that could never reach the other side. 

His aspirations for volleyball burned bright, and as much as he liked Hinata Shouyou, he loved volleyball as well. This sport remained a constant in his life, and it will for as long as he existed. So he picked himself back up, locked the feelings deep inside his chest, and never looked back.

  
  


* * *

  
  


“The Grand King?!”

Oikawa stumbles when he meets a familiar star in the summer shoals of Rio de Janeiro.

After constant pestering from his unruly teammates, he finally relented and dragged himself outside to go on a nightly stroll. The dim streetlamps shining above and the clamoring of the people walking past are comforting, emanating a kind of peace that one finds in a home long filled with history. It distracts him from his thoughts well enough to where he doesn't feel like he's stuck in time, stagnant in place as the world around him takes its natural course. 

He looked around aimlessly, listening to people speak in a language he had minimal knowledge in, to the skies that were too dark and the stars that were too unfamiliar to the ones he stared at as a child. For some time now, he felt as if he's being swept away by the dissonance of it all, the unfamiliarity, and it reminds him of the first time when he stood at an airport with only his luggage and no one by his side to catch him fall. The possibilities and the uncertainties that he thought he had grown out of had shackled him once again, and it's tiring, to constantly think and feel when he should be working on his skills and becoming better. It’s tiring and draining and it makes him feel so hopelessly lost when he shouldn’t be.

And maybe even now, he’s searching. For what, he doesn’t know. Maybe he missed his mother's cooking, even though she wasn’t particularly good at it. Maybe he missed the tranquility of the nights where he spent watching alien movies instead of staying late at practice to just get even one more second, one more step in. Or maybe he just wanted to find a piece of home that could anchor him back to reality.

When he hears a bright voice speaking his native tongue somewhere around him, he feels his heart pick up. There was a hazy silhouette against the backdrop of the sky flickering in his mind, and even then, he had the urge to chase that vestige of something precious. It was intimately familiar, tugging his heartstrings and playing an ancient tune that left him entranced. It was unbelievable. It was baffling. He walks to the direction of the beach to make sure, as if every bit of Oikawa isn't perfectly attuned to the sound of his voice, years later despite the changes.

He nearly laughed himself stupid when he saw the familiar tufts of orange hair shining like a beacon of light under the night of Brazil. Out of everyone, of _course_ , it was Hinata Shouyou—the fiery, energetic spiker from Karasuno who always manages to surprise him when he least expects it. Oikawa should've seen this coming, after witnessing the spiker claw his way through life with sheer will alone. The type of hunger that Hinata had when he played wasn’t one that others could easily imitate. It seemed like he wasn’t the only crazy one to travel halfway across the world for volleyball.

The conversation flows without stop, on the why's and how's and the little things in between. They meander through different topics of training, the Argentine league, Italy, and the feelings of surprise and admiration vividly coloring Hinata's face makes Oikawa's chest puff up just a bit; makes him feel more strong and steady with pride. He's learned to become proud of himself and what he managed to succeed in through years of hard work, but for someone he was familiar with—that also shares his past in a home far away—to acknowledge it and respect it, makes him stand a bit firmer, makes him feel a bit more at ease with himself.

They go out to eat in a restaurant Hinata recommended, and it's… nice. It's a casual meetup of rivals-turned-friends from bygone high school days, and there isn't a moment of silence between them. There's always a story to tell or a recent anecdote that leaves their stomachs aching from laughing too loud. Oikawa tells him of the one game he saw as a child that irreversibly impacted his life as a volleyball player, and Hinata listens with rapture. It isn't a story Oikawa tells others often, and he prefers to keep to himself when it comes to it, but he finds out that there's a kind of solace when someone listens— _really_ listens to what he has to say, underneath all the veneer and superfluous flowery language he spews.

It feels liberating to talk about himself and his childhood to someone who actually cares, looking at him as if he was the only one person who mattered in this world. It feels unfamiliar, like playing with a team you just joined for the first time or the first day of living in a new country with no clue what to do next. But Oikawa is greedy, so he keeps all these warm feelings that he hasn’t felt in so long and holds them tight to his chest, unwilling to let a single drop leave his grasp.

The conversation dives back into beach volleyball, and the way Hinata's eyes light up at the topic is nothing short of dazzling. There's a kind of exuberance whenever he talks about it, and Oikawa notes how he looks like he's in his element, as if nothing could ever suit him more. Hinata already fits seamlessly with the locals around here, and he feels like he belongs; like he made Brazil his new home.

Oikawa’s heart wavered just slightly, and he wondered if he could find a home for himself as well.

Hinata points outside with a face waiting in anticipation, and Oikawa remains confident when Hinata drags him out to the beach, prepared to show off his skills he's learned in Argentina, and absolutely smash his opponents to the ground. 

“You’ve gotten pretty high and mighty, wanting to fight it out with me,” Oikawa taunts, smirking. 

He learns not even a second later that beach volleyball was very, very different.

The sand was soft yet unforgiving all at once. He tumbles and falls around more times than he can count in the first game, feeling grains of sand cling onto his sweat-soaked skin. It's restricting, binding him to the ground, and forcing him to strain all his muscles to the limit. With only one teammate to rely on instead of five, he scrambles around desperately to keep the ball in the air. It's intense and exhilarating in all the right places, and Oikawa begins to understand why Hinata came all the way here to train.

It forces you to relearn everything all over again. It leaves you worse than when you started and makes you break down your foundation to rebuild it back up, brick by agonizing brick. It's a harsh style of training that makes you rethink everything you previously knew and forces you to come up with new ways to act in the heat of the moment.

Even if they were both amazing players in indoor volleyball, the gap between that and playing on the beach was far too vast for their skills to bridge. They were against veterans who have played on the sand and lived with it for far longer than they have, and in the end, Hinata was still a beginner, and Oikawa far more so to the point that it was pitiful. They lose in the end, but Oikawa doesn't feel the usual disappointment that comes from his inadequacy to win. He feels pleased with himself as if discovering something that he was initially oblivious to for the first time. It’s a novel feeling, reminding him of a time when his passion was raw and unfiltered and blossoming; when he felt nothing but pure joy at each step and improvement he made.

He's laughing, covered in sweat and sand and all kinds of things that he pays no mind to, only focusing on the light that was Hinata's shirt clad back.

He had forgotten that volleyball was fun; that it was such a simple thing to be happy.

For what felt like the first time in weeks, months, his heart pounded against his chest, strong, wondering, and so painfully alive.

* * *

  
  


Oikawa has made it a habit to analyze his teammates and opponents while playing in a match. It became part of the reason why he was such a formidable player; how he takes everything into account, picking apart the little movements and habits of others to bring out the full potential of his teammates on the court, while also using his opponent’s weaknesses to drag them down from the stage they stood on. Playing with Hinata was no exception, except instead of standing on the other side of the net under the luminescent lights of the gym, they stood side by side with the gentle wind of the sea drifting across their faces.

Oikawa looks around with keen eyes. He observes how Hinata's legs bend before a jump, how he uses his sense of balance in the air to his advantage, and how he darts around the court with astonishing speed, always one second faster than what their opponents could keep up with. Clouds of sand particles wisp in the air whenever Hinata jumps, and he's soaring, flying, past the indigo blue and the peachy white to the backside of the stars. Maybe he was never meant to stay in place; always trajecting towards galaxies in figments of black and orange and red on his back. 

He also notices how his tan skin glistens like honey under the unforgiving Brazilian sun, the way his shirt slips down to reveal his smooth collarbones, and the way his shorts hug his toned thighs beautifully. He notices how his tongue peeks out when he concentrates, how his hair tousles from the salty breeze, and the way his calves ripple with unrestrained tension. Oikawa swallows dryly as Hinata stretches his arms over his head, revealing a strip of golden skin in the corner of his eye. His fingers twitch at his side imperceptibly and he thinks, _‘Those clothes should be illegal.’_

The sky is blue. The sand is beige. And Hinata's eyes were gold.

It’s been years since Oikawa has last seen Hinata. Back then, he used to be such a tiny adorable thing, barely even reaching his chin. He was like a small bird who just broke out of his shell, unable to fly on his own. But now he’s grown taller, his shoulders broader, his muscles firmer, and even more stunningly beautiful.

Oikawa didn’t expect to have the sudden realization that his high school crush is now a very hot, attractive single adult in the middle of a match, but he’s never been one for propriety.

And his skills. Oikawa could go on days just talking about his improvements.

Hinata’s gotten _good._ It wasn’t like in high school where he’ll fumble around without a plan or goal in mind other than to jump and spike. He’s grown cautious, more perceptive, more capable in everything—he now receives properly, can serve without too much trouble, and can even set. His moves are fluid and powerful, speaking of countless hours of practice, practice, _practice_ that Oikawa had no knowledge of. He’s beginning to learn how to take flight with his own pair of wings, and Oikawa marvels at how he reaches new heights.

Hinata’s been a monster since the very beginning. And Oikawa always liked challenges.

“One more time,” Hinata breathes out as he peeked at him through his shades, the same fire in his eyes that he remembered from their first practice match. The intensity burned, scalding and hot, glinting with a ravenous hunger of a crow waiting to strike and take over the world. He was a majestic, relentless force of nature, an insatiable beast wearing human skin, and Oikawa can feel the same thirst to devour roaring through his veins; a quench that can only be sated by the high of a game.

The ball bounds back to their side of the court and Oikawa’s mind is running a mile a minute, taking in as much detail as possible. How Hinata stands near the pole on the opposite end of the court, ready and prepared, how strong the wind is blowing, the way the opponents lean towards Hinata’s direction and causing their momentum to— _oh_.

Oikawa smirks wickedly as he jumps up into a setter position, and just as the ball makes contact with his palm, he changes his stance and leans over to dump the ball over to the other side of the net. Their opponents try to reach the ball, but it’s too late, and the ball lands on the sand with a satisfying thump. God, he could get addicted to this feeling if he wasn’t already.

“Oikawa-san!” Hinata yells as he runs over with his hands up, and Oikawa easily lifts up his arms to meet halfway. They clap with grins on their faces, but before Oikawa could move away, Hinata threads his fingers through his and interlocks their palms together. “That was a great move! I totally thought you were going to set to me.” 

“Well, the whole point was to trick everyone. It’s more effective if no one knows my real intention.” The sun is glaring hot above them, making their hands clammy with sweat and sand stuck in between, but neither make a move to let go. 

“Then next time, you have to give one of your amazing tosses to me, okay?” Hinata pouts as he leans closer, his shirt billowing out, and if Oikawa peeks down just slightly he can see his—

He coughs, averting his gaze, and grins a little shakily as Hinata tilts his head. “Of course. Who am I to deny you?”  
  


* * *

  
  


"You're too tense, Chibi-chan."

Oikawa pressed his chest flush against Hinata's back, letting his fingers trail hot blazes down the rough edges of Hinata's biceps, into the dips of his coiled muscles and past the freckles marring his skin. He wraps his hand around his wrist and readjusts his position ever so slightly, and nods to himself in approval, letting his touch linger just slightly.

"Make sure to not toss too high. When you do that, you'll end up focusing too much on trying not to miss than where you're actually hitting," Oikawa murmurs, his breath ghosting over the shell of Hinata's red ear. "It's more lifting than tossing. When you hit, use the meat of your palm and not too much of your fingers. You don’t want to make it spin, you want to make it float. You understand, Chibi-chan?"

Hinata seemed to snap out of his musing at the end and nods his head vigorously. "Ah, y—yes."

Oikawa steps back and moves to the side so Hinata can practice more with his serves. They were currently the only ones using the gym his team used moments before, and the others have already left to leave the two to their own devices. Hinata had popped up in their practice out of nowhere, something he seemed to make a bad habit out of, and before Oikawa knew it everyone on his team was enamored with him. The last few minutes of practice consisted of Hinata laughing and nodding along with a smile on his face while Oikawa sulked to himself at the edge and his friends laughing at him. Those bastards.

"It was fun to talk to you guys, but I came here to ask Oikawa-san to give me pointers on my serves!" Hinata spoke in accented English to the crowd around him, and Oikawa perked up slightly at the mention of his name. His teammates all deflated and reluctantly bid goodbye, but not without patting Hinata on his head and making him promise to hang out with them later. Hinata laughed and agreed, and the rest of the Argentine team went out towards the locker room to freshen up.

And so that led them here, with Oikawa giving guidance to Hinata on how to improve his jump floaters and Hinata following along easily like a docile puppy with his tail wagging behind his legs. He notes with amusement how Hinata absentmindedly spun the ball instead of bouncing it on the floor; it seemed that all the time he spent here has started to seep into his regular plays as well.

It takes a few tries, but Hinata slowly starts to get into the rhythm of attempting again and adjusting a few things. Watching the practiced ease and fluidity of his muscles flex causes Oikawa's mind to imagine things he definitely shouldn't be imagining at the moment. He thinks about what it’ll feel like to hold onto Hinata and never let go. He thinks about what Hinata’s lips taste; if it’ll be as intoxicating as his tongue on his skin. He thinks about two bodies entangled together on a bed, bare and open for each other's eyes only. He thinks—

The satisfying sound of the ball slamming against the floor echoes in the empty court.

“I did it,” Hinata breathes out, breaking into a wide grin as he stared at his red hand in wonder. He was practically glowing, shining brighter at that moment then all the stars in the observable universe. “Gah! I really did it!"

He runs towards Oikawa, and Oikawa nearly topples over as Hinata's weight crashes into his chest at full force. Hinata winds his arms around his neck and pulls him down until their faces are mere centimeters apart, and Oikawa’s heart stutters at their proximity. Any closer and Oikawa might go crazy.

“Oikawa-san! That was so cool! It was like, _bam,_ and whoosh!” Hinata was practically vibrating in his hold as his excitement radiated off him in waves, and Oikawa couldn’t help but become infected by it as well. 

“Congrats Chibi-chan,” Oikawa grins with wild satisfaction as he ruffles Hinata’s hair, leaning away slightly to catch his breath. His thoughts still ring in the corner of his mind, but he ignores it in favor of the man inside his hold. “You did it. That was a great jump floater. Well, with someone like me as your instructor, your serves were bound to improve.”

“You really are amazing, Oikawa-san!”

“Aren’t I?”

“Really! You’re so cool Grand King! Amazing! Wonderful!”

Oikawa can feel his face gradually burn as Hinata continues to compliment him without end, feeling overwhelmed by the praises rolling out of the shorter’s tongue, at his earnest expression and imploring gaze. If his teammates saw him right now, they would laugh and point at him like a bunch of hyenas for acting like some pathetic, lovestruck fool—and he knows he is, but it's hard to act comprehensible when Hinata is staring at you with such a fervent gaze.

It was late, and Oikawa should've already been at his hotel room catching up on the latest series or sports articles from overseas, resting in the comfort of his bed. He wasn't supposed to be here because practice ended long ago, but Hinata is here, and Oikawa didn't want to let this moment die out just yet. He still hadn't eaten, and he was sure that Hinata was probably feeling hungry as well, so he lets the words spill out of his mouth before he has any time to think it over.

“So whaddya say about dinner after this? You still owe me, Chibi-chan.”

  
  


* * *

  
  


Oikawa learns that Hinata has a surprisingly strong alcohol tolerance.

The plates of food had already been cleaned up, and they're nursing a rum and coke under the murmurs of the people around them at the bar stools. The clinking of glass and occasional laughter ringing around is atmospheric and mellow, and Oikawa can feel his tense muscles loosen up until he’s leaning back on his chair, lolling his head to stare at Hinata next to him. He doesn’t remember how many drinks he had, but his mind feels a bit fuzzy at the seams, and the world seemed to only focus on Hinata at the center of its lense.

The shorter was currently recounting a story of him sneaking into Shiratorizawa’s training camp in the past— _typical of him_ — and Oikawa laughs as he describes it in theatrical flair. The thing about Hinata, Oikawa noticed, was that _everything_ mattered to him. He describes the gym, all the members, and the mundane things with excruciating detail that it might as well have happened yesterday, not years ago. It all lies within the chasm of Hinata’s heart, treated just as carefully as all the other big moments in his life. In Hinata’s eyes, there was no such thing as less or more valuable; the colors, the people, the places, were all important. They were all fundamental to what made Hinata Shouyou _him._

And this is where their differences lie but also where their similarities began; because they were both inherently selfish people at the core. The more Hinata talks, it dawns on Oikawa that everything he has been doing was for the sake of _himself_ , for his love for volleyball; that the reason he helps others grow is so that he could fight them at their best. Hinata _wants_ to beat his opponents when they're in top shape for the thrill of the challenge, to see where he's at and learn from it, even if he's at a disadvantage.

“I was the designated ball boy, but even if I didn’t really play, I learned a lot.” Hinata laughs, taking a sip, and he stares at his drink with eyes that echo buried sentiments. Oikawa doesn't see this version of Hinata often; contemplative, his voice was quiet when his eyes were loud, but it’s just as iridescent as any part of him. “I saw how big their academy was, how talented and strong Ushijima-san was up close, and how amazing their team was. And I couldn’t help but wonder… what if I ended up there instead? Would I have changed or grown more?”

Oikawa closed his eyes, and he could see the moment the ugly roots of his obsession started to sprout—Ushijima looking down at him as he was on the floor in a middle school match, distorted and fizzing out like static. He remembers when his competitiveness turned into something grotesque, tainting his love for volleyball like spilled ink; when he had lashed out to others from his insecurities of being _normal_. It was a dark time that the adolescent, young Oikawa couldn't handle, and it took him a while for him to accept that part of himself.

“Ushijima pissed me off in the past. He still does, but when he told me to go to Shiratorizawa and leave my teammates who were talentless, who were _mediocre,_ I wanted to sock him in the face.” Oikawa feels the same anger well up in his chest, the determination to beat him flaring bright enough to overtake the sun even years later. Oikawa was never one to back down from a challenge, so he let this competitiveness become part of the fuel to aim higher, to overtake his limits, and become the best he could possibly be.

“I knew that our team didn’t have the same talented people as his. I knew that we didn’t stand a chance against Ushijima individually. But a team of six is better than one. And I’ll never regret staying in Seijoh.”

Even if he couldn’t win now or in the past, there was always the next time, the next year to steal victory with the same hands that held the Seijoh banner up; the same hands that were engraved with the tears and shadows of his old teammates he carried. 

After all, this was still volleyball.

“You really are incredible, Oikawa-san,” Hinata says, his admiration palpable from his voice. Oikawa didn’t understand why Hinata respected him so much when he was the epitome of the fallacies that humankind has.

“You’re going to inflate my ego even more, you know. I’m really not as great as you think. I was a little shit back in middle school because I let my jealousy blind me.” 

“I don’t think it’s wrong for you to be jealous or envious of others,” Hinata murmurs in the lull of the voices around them. “I think it’s normal to be resentful to those that had more opportunities than you at the start.”

Oikawa felt like an invisible weight had been taken off his shoulders. Here was Hinata in all of his glory, giving him the comfort and words that he wanted so desperately to hear in the past. That he was valid, and that there didn't need to be any world stopping reason for his worthless pride to be enough. 

”Even you, Chibi-chan?” Oikawa teases but pauses as Hinata faces him with a lighthearted smile, eyes crinkling in the edges.

“Yeah. I was even jealous of you at one point, Oikawa-san,” Hinata giggles, stupidly endearing and sweet. "How couldn’t I be, when you were so cool back then? You were like, pow! And wham! Especially your jump floaters! I thought I was going to go crazy when it was your turn to serve.”

“Are you saying I’m not cool now?” Oikawa gasps in mock hurt. He secretly hoped that the dim lights of the restaurant hid the rising blush on his cheeks, but at the amused gleam in Hinata’s eyes, he knew that it was pointless.

“No, I’m saying that you’re even more charming now,” Hinata grins as he places his hand on Oikawa’s firm bicep, giving it a nice squeeze. Oh. _Oh._

Now, Oikawa knew he was good looking. Although his self-esteem was abysmally low to the point of crippling at the worst of times, he could still acknowledge the fact that he was pretty, and that many people considered him so. But for Hinata to think that he was attractive enough to the point of flirting—now that was a huge ego boost. He had seen the way people looked at Hinata at the beach—how could he not, when practically everyone couldn't tear their gaze away from the radiant ball of sunshine? Hinata held a kind of scenic beauty around him, gentle like the usher of spring after the brittle winter, a quiet sense of allure that smoothened the rough edges of his muscles and the calluses on his fingers.

"You're not so bad yourself, beach boy," Oikawa leans closer, letting his breath ghost over Hinata's ear, and he relishes in thinly veiled delight at how the spiker's cheeks darken, his grip on him tightening. The color looked so nice on him.

Oikawa knew from past experience that these teasing touches were too frequent for it to be accidental. The hazy look in Hinata’s eyes wasn’t just from the alcohol; there was a faint flicker of hunger there as well, different from the one he had when he played volleyball but no less passionate. It caused heat to coil around Oikawa’s stomach from the way Hinata flirted in that soft, secretive way, leading him by the finger with a smile and a challenge.

The alcohol thrumming through Oikawa’s veins made his tongue looser, more bolder than he had any right to be. He talks about everything and nothing at once, unloading everything that’s been on his mind for the past months. One moment they’re having some deep conversation about home, to arguments on which ice cream brand was better, and then borderline flirting that even the bartender notices despite not knowing what they’re saying. Oikawa was always one to jump from different topics on a whim, and Hinata matches in tandem, like binary stars revolving around one another with music only they could hear. 

This tentative dance, the constant push and pull; what would happen if either one of them crossed the invisible line?

“You really manage to attract people wherever you go, even off court,” Oikawa muses as he saw another person look at Hinata with interest. It prickles his skin, makes it itch in an irritating way.

“What do you mean?” Hinata cocks his head to the side, lost, and it takes Oikawa a few moments to register that he wasn't joking.

“Wait, you mean you haven’t noticed?” Oikawa asks incredulously, The gazes at Hinata haven't been very indiscreet. “Do you know how many people have been flirting with you from today alone? How they're looking at you? My teammates? Even the waiter kept making side glances at you."

“Huh?” Hinata looks around, brows furrowed, and Oikawa laughs out loud. It shouldn’t be that shocking. Although Hinata could understand and empathize with people, he was oblivious in other factors, and that included how bewitching others found him.

“You really are blind Chibi-chan,”

“It’s not like I’m interested in them anyway. I’m only interested in you,” Hinata says offhandedly, and Oikawa freezes as Hinata’s face reddens in horror at the slip of his tongue. “Wait, I-I didn’t mean to say that out loud! Gah! How embarrassing!”

Hinata was interested in him?

Well, they were both blatantly flirting at this point. This building tension between them wasn’t just him projecting his fantasies onto their relationship, right? He knew that it wasn’t farfetched to think that Hinata reciprocates his feelings, but even if he did, he didn’t know if they were as deep, as potent, as ardent as his.

But this was like an affirmation. It showed that their relationship had the possibility of developing into something more, and Oikawa didn't know how to process that new information.

“You really are getting bold, Chibi-chan,” Oikawa says, as if that one simple, honest sentence hadn’t just rearranged his entire world into something indiscernible. The high of Hinata’s admittance was still there, buzzing under Oikawa’s skin along with the alcohol. 

“Maybe it’s because it’s you,” Hinata mutters weakly, face still red. He buried his head in between his arms, refusing to meet Oikawa's gaze. 

Oikawa gulps, feeling his hand start to sweat as he lifts it up slowly, as if any abrupt movement would break the mirage in front of him. He's done this before, after matches when they both were delirious from adrenaline and the excitement, but now he couldn't hide behind that flimsy excuse any longer.

_'Hinata's hair's still unruly as ever,'_ Oikawa mentally notes as he carded his fingers through the wild waves. Oikawa tenderly tucks a stray strand behind Hinata's ear and watches in fascination at how the tips of Hinata's ear gradually become redder. He brushes his knuckles over it, lost in thought.

He didn't realize until he met Hinata, but he was terribly lonely. Even when Iwaizumi sent him pictures of cats, or when Hanamaki and Matsukawa spammed the group chat weekly, Oikawa still felt a sense of disconnect. They talked about things he had no clues about, stories that he was unable to witness, and Oikawa struggles to read them through them as a reader instead of a character. 

But with Hinata, there wasn't anything to worry about. He doesn't have to despair of being away from everything he knew, because Hinata was here, and he was a part of that home that Oikawa yearned for across the vast, endless ocean.

"Sometimes I can't believe you're actually here," Hinata confesses, his voice slightly muffled. His shoulders had become lax under Oikawa's continued ministrations. "It feels unreal to me. I wonder if I'll wake up someday and realize you were never here to begin with." 

"Well, I'm here now,” Oikawa murmurs, like a statement, a reassurance that even in this small frame of time, he was real. Maybe as much as Hinata was a catharsis, a small piece of home and comfort for his terribly deprived soul, he was the same thing for Hinata as well. An oasis after a long time traversing the desert with nothing but footprints to say to the world that they were here, that they existed. 

"And I couldn't ask for more," Hinata laughs lightly, lifting his head slightly, eyes half-lidded. “I would’ve never expected to meet the Grand King here in Brazil, but,” He pauses, contemplating his words with quiet thoughtfulness, “I’m glad that we met. And I hope that somehow I helped you too.”

“Of course you did. You did more than enough,” Oikawa affirms, and he’s surprised to find that he really means it.

He’s here, they’re here, and they existed. 

“Has anyone told you that you’d make a really good therapist?”

Hinata grins, “You’d be surprised. A lot of people would just tell me their problems without me asking after our first meeting for some reason.”

“I can see why.”

“I don’t know if you’re complimenting me or insulting me, Oikawa-san.” 

“It’s a compliment, I swear. Don’t go worrying your pretty little head over something like that.” Oikawa snickers. He takes the opportunity to check his phone, and his eyes widen in surprise.

"Shit, it's late." Oikawa curses. “I should probably get going now.” His hotel was 20 minutes away by foot, and he wasn't sure if he had enough energy to go there before he passed out in some alleyway along the way. He’d probably get lost before that though. 

“Can you still walk to your hotel?” Hinata asks, brows furrowed in worry. 

“A little? Yeah. I’m sober enough. I think.” 

"You can crash at my place if you want." 

"Are you sure?"

"Yeah. Pedro, my roommate, is staying with his family for the week. You can borrow his room for the time being.” Hinata explains, and Oikawa thinks it over before giving a hesitant nod.

“Thanks, Chibi-chan.”

“No problem. Now let's go home.” Hinata slides out of his barstool and stares at Oikawa expectantly. Oikawa shoots a quick text to his team’s group chat, ignoring the onslaught of cheering and encouragement that comes after, and walks out the restaurant with Hinata’s hand that burns hot and heady against his, on his skin and flaring in his chest.

And Oikawa lets it.  
  


* * *

  
(Oikawa sleeps, and he dreams of those soft fingertips wrapped around his that hold the promise of tomorrow.)

  
  


* * *

  
  


Oikawa wakes up to a mild headache and the sound of the whirling air conditioner in the corner of the room. 

He grunts as he sits up on the bed, and it takes a few moments for him to recollect his wayward thoughts. He can vaguely recall smears of city lights coating Hinata's skin in hues of red and yellow from the night before, smudges of inky blackness and mumbled words, but after his head landed on the pillow it was a complete void. Oikawa thanks his past disoriented self for not doing anything too embarrassing.

It took a while for Oikawa to muster up the energy to move, but when his stomach growled with hunger, he finally relented and walked out of the room to the sound of clattering kitchenware. He takes in the cozy interior of the apartment as he walks by—a stark contrast to his own room which was painfully bare to the minimum—and his eyes set on a certain someone standing by the stove.

“Good morning Oikawa-san!” Hinata chirps cheerfully with an apron wrapped around his waist and a spatula in one hand. The aroma of sizzling eggs and bacon on the pan wafted over to Oikawa’s nose, and he dragged his feet over to stand behind Hinata and pulled him towards his chest. He was so warm, like a portable furnace. He wanted to hug him forever.

“Shou-chan,” Oikawa whines petulantly, his voice muffled by Hinata’s t-shirt. “Your apartment’s too cold,” 

“Is it?” Hinata questions and Oikawa groans out affirmatively. He wonders if he was being too bold and invasive this time, but Hinata didn’t push him away, so Oikawa counted that as a win in his book.

Hinata laughed, “Sorry. I like it cold though. I’ll make sure to make it warmer for you next time.”

_Next time._ There was a next time. Oikawa felt a dopey grin start to form on his face.

It was comfortable. He’s never been much of a morning person. Maybe it was being able to speak his native tongue without hindrance, not being stressed about anything or just Shouyou. The sound of food cooking and Hinata singing to himself lightly caused Oikawa to doze off a little, and all he could feel was the steady heartbeat of Hinata thumping against his chest.

Hinata had such a lovely voice. It was as smooth as silk, airy and light like a gentle chime of bells. Does he like to sing to himself when he’s alone? He could already see it—Hinata humming to himself while moving to the beat of the song as the room was painted in glittering gold. Would Oikawa be in the picture as well? 

Oikawa wanted to be there. He wanted to hear Hinata sing unknown songs in a foreign language while he cooked breakfast in his small apartment. He wanted to be by his side when he played in the sweltering shores of Brazil, to set to him and witness the magic that escaped from his fingertips. He wanted to see Hinata, to memorize every expression he made and all the little habits he has. Oikawa has always been driven, always goal-oriented, but for the first time, he craved something that didn’t revolve around volleyball.

“Oikawa-san,” Hinata calls out, snapping him out of his daydream. Oikawa groans as he blearily opens his eyes, peeking at Hinata's face in his peripheral vision. “Wake up, sleepyhead! You still need to wash up and eat breakfast."

Oikawa only snuggles further into Hinata's back as a response. "How can you be energetic so early in the morning?"

"Oikawa-san, it's 1 p.m."

"That's still too early."

Hinata rolls his eyes—actually rolls them, the _audacity!_ —and pats his shoulder lightly. "Have you even toured around the city yet?"

"Of course I-"

"Going to the gym to practice does not count."

"—have not. You're so mean, Chibi-chan. I even went out to the restaurant with you yesterday!"

"Because I asked you to come. Did you ever willingly leave your room out of your own volition?" 

Oikawa could not answer.

"Exactly!" Hinata puffs his chest proudly, flipping the eggs in the pan. "I won't allow you to stay inside all day when you haven't experienced how fun Brazil can be! I will even be your personal tour guide. I'll show you all the good places around here, and the best spots to take Instagram worthy pics."

"You're surprisingly knowledgeable in this."

”You end up learning a lot here that you didn’t expect to learn.” Hinata remarks with a grin and a strange glimmer in his eyes, and Oikawa feels an inkling of fear in what kind of things Hinata hid up his sleeves. The little shrimp was already terrifying as he is, what else did he have in his arsenal?

“I’m grateful and all, Shou-chan, but don’t you have work in the mornings?”

“Yeah, but I called off work today so it’s fine. You were still dead to the world when I went in to check, and I was worried if you would be okay or not so…”

Oikawa blinks, a little touched, “Why thank you Shou-chan. My hangover’s not that serious. I’ll manage it somehow.”

“Great! We’ll be going out after this!”

“Wha-”

“There's a spare toothbrush in the cabinet below the sink. I put some clothes for you to change into in the bathroom. I wasn’t sure if my clothes would fit, so I gave you Pedro's. I hope you don't mind."

"Uh, It's alright. Thank you." Oikawa reluctantly unwinded his arms around Hinata's waist, already missing the warmth his body exuded.

"No problem, now go, or else the food will go cold. I have a lot to show you around here" 

Oikawa walked to the bathroom to quickly wash up and change into the large shirt and loose shorts. If his teammates saw how he easily woke up today, they would probably kidnap Hinata and bring him back to Argentina. It wasn't his fault that Hinata was like a charger for his soul. If this was how Pedro lived his everyday life as Hinata’s roommate, then he was one lucky bastard.

They both ate breakfast quickly and headed outside to sightsee. Hinata had practically dragged him to almost every standard sight by the pamphlet. They frolic with other tourists to various monuments and place their two feet could take them. With Hinata, Oikawa feels as if he’s living the true tourist experience as Hinata rambles on about miscellaneous facts in each site, recounting personal incidents he had and even asking strangers to take pictures of them together. Oikawa wanted to feel annoyed by it all, but he couldn’t help but play along with Hinata’s whim, smiling wildly and laughing in each picture that they took. He sneaked quite a few candid shots of Hinata as well, admiring the way he just looked so natural as the sun outlined his form in streams of gold. It must be an innate talent that he possessed, for Hinata to look ethereal in any kind of lighting.

If he set one of the pictures as his lock screen, then no one else needed to know.

It was when the sun started to dip towards the horizon that they finally slowed down their pace by going through gift shops. It was supposedly a requirement to walk around and buy expensive souvenirs after sightseeing, as per Hinata's words, but Oikawa thinks that it was probably more to sate his own curiosity than the setter himself.

“It’s basically a mandatory rule in the world of tourism Oikawa-san!” Hinata announces with a miniature Christ the Redeemer statue clutched in his hand. They were in one of the many gift shops that lined the streets, and after spending such a long time by his side, Oikawa has learned to accept his unorthodox ways.

“Yeah, but aren’t I the one that’s supposed to be the tourist in this situation?” Oikawa snorts in amusement as the spiker continues to “ooh” and “ahh” at the various flashy merchandise on the shelves. If anyone were to see this, they would think that Hinata was the tourist, not the other way around.

“I guess I bought enough,” Hinata pouts, glancing at Oikawa’s backpack which was full of souvenirs. Oikawa nods and grabs the small statue out of his hand to place it back where it belongs. “You sure bought a lot of stuff Shou-chan. Are they for your friends back home?”

“Yup! I want to let them know that I'm working hard here and thank them for all the support they gave, even though they were initially surprised by my decision. They all had been by my side since the beginning, and after coming here, I want to give them a small part of myself to show that I'm growing even if they aren't here to see it in person."

A small, tiny part of Oikawa boasts about how he was the only one to witness this version of Hinata in its utmost glory. While everyone else could see him through grainy video calls and pictures displayed on a bright screen, only Oikawa could truly touch his golden skin in person—only he could see this wonderful sight to behold in front of his very eyes. He didn’t know what he did in his past life to gain such a privilege, but he will damn well cherish this and use it to the fullest extent.

“Oikawa-san, are you going to buy any souvenirs for your friends?”

“Hm? Oh, I already shipped them out. Iwa-chan said that the shirt I got for him was ugly, but I know that inside he was crying from how thoughtful I was…. Don’t look at me like that please.”

Hinata giggled, “Don’t worry, he was! He wouldn’t stop texting me about how soft the shirt was. I thought it looked cool!”

“Of course it did, after all, I picked it—wait, Iwa-chan texts you? Since when did you have his number?”

Hinata looked a little sheepish at his surprised gaze, “Erm… ever since the semi-finals my first year?”

_“What?!”_

Iwaizumi had Hinata’s number ever since their third year? And he didn’t even tell Oikawa this, who he knew had a very large crush on the small spiker from Karasuno? Oh, Iwaizumi isn’t going to hear the end of him anytime soon. Oikawa is going to absolutely barrage his phone with angry text messages and threatening voicemails for a week straight, and there isn’t going to be anything he can do to stop him. Maybe he’ll even show up at his doorstep when he’s on break to interrogate him personally, and possibly whine and throw a tantrum in his dorm at how he was a traitor. How expensive is an airplane ticket from Argentina to California anyway?

“You asked for Iwa-chan’s number but not mine? I’m appalled! Absolutely betrayed! I can’t believe I was stabbed in the back by my closest friend!” Oikawa wails, and Hinata flushes in embarrassment at the curious gazes heading their way from the loud voice. 

“I-I’m sorry Oikawa-san, I was just—”

“For fate to be so cruel! What did I deserve to get such a punishment? Was I not worthy enough to even talk to?”

Hinata quickly pushed Oikawa’s back out of the gift shop towards the road while said setter lamented at his tragic life, weaving somber poems out of the pool of his own tears. When they were far enough from the prying gazes of the crowd, Hinata stood in front of Oikawa and blocked his running mouth with his hands, putting an end to his monologue.

“The reason I didn’t ask you was because I-I was too shy to talk to you!”

Oikawa’s eyes widened at his declaration. Hinata looked as if he'd burst into flames at any moment from how red he was, but he continued.

“I thought you were so amazing in our match, like pwuaah, and kaboom! I wanted to get a chance to know you better but I didn’t have the courage, so I asked Iwaizumi-san instead to learn more about you. I admired you so much and wanted to talk to you, but you were just too _hot_!”

A silence descended between them. 

Hinata looked mortified at his confession, and he lifted his hands away from Oikawa’s mouth. “A-Ah, wait, gah, I-I didn’t—”

“Hahaha!” Oikawa laughs, feeling his face morph into an uncontrollable smile. He felt as if he was on cloud nine; as if he just died and ascended to heaven three times just from that single sentence alone. The world is spinning with colors, swelling with Hinata at its epicenter, dizzying, _exhilarating_ , and he feels light-headed—from the overbearing humidity of Brazil, or the revelation that rang like a hymn in between his ears, he didn’t know. He cups Hinata’s cheeks with his palms and stares at him with starstruck eyes, ignoring his desperate stammering.

The sky is orange. Hinata’s face is red. And his eyes were gold.

“You thought that I was hot?”

“You only focused on that part?!” Hinata squeaks adorably, and Oikawa cackles loudly. His heart is unbelievably warm, burning bright between his ribs, and he wonders if Hinata could feel how his hands tremble, see how his ears are burning with the same intensity as his eyes. It makes him feel happy, knowing that he wasn’t the only one pining between the two of them. 

“I’m flattered, Chibi-chan, but you know you could’ve just asked right?’

“I’m refusing to talk to you any longer. The tour’s done, you can go back to your hotel now,” Hinata turns around to run away in order to save himself from further embarrassment, but Oikawa hugs him from behind before he can get any further. 

“I’m sorry, sorry, I’ll stop teasing you,” Oikawa says, not sounding remotely sorry at all. His voice is airy, and peals of laughter escape his lips.

“You’re still laughing!” Hinata accuses him indignantly, sulking.

“I just can’t believe it is all. Did you know that I found you adorable in the past?”

Hinata is practically boiling at this point. He covers his face with his hands, and Oikawa couldn’t be more endeared.

“You-You can’t just say that out loud!”

“You’re still so cute now, Chibi-chan,” Oikawa drawls, voice dipping low, and Hinata squirms. 

“ _Oikawa-san.”_

“Tooru."

Hinata turns around in his hold. "Eh?"

"My name. Call me Tooru from now on." Oikawa insists. 

Hinata inhales. A beat. “Ah, isn’t that too casual though?”

“Is it? I think we’re way past formalities at this point from all the dates we’ve been going on.”

“D-Dates?”

“Aren’t they? Me taking you out to dinner twice, going out to sightsee, walking around the city hand-in-hand?” Oikawa lists. He gestures at their current position—chest to chest, physically close and snug in broad daylight. “Do you not consider them as dates, Shouyou? Because I have for quite a while now.” 

Hinata fidgets in his arms and Oikawa waits patiently for his response. He knows not to rush this, or else everything that has been building up between them might come crumbling down into dust. He lets his hands rub comforting circles on Hinata’s hips, giving him time to string his thoughts together—lets him decide if he is willing to take this single step or not. 

Oikawa looks down to check, and Hinata is staring at him, smiling. It's not the kind of smile that can blind out the sun, but calmer, tamer, with a sweetness that is inherently familiar on Oikawa’s tongue, and in the back of his mind it registers that this is the same look he himself has when he smiles at Hinata. Maybe he was closer to understanding Hinata more than he realizes.

“I guess they were, Tooru.”

* * *

  
  
  


_(The red spread over the sky's blue. Hinata seemed to melt into the twilight.)_

* * *

Oikawa knows many things.

He knows how to analyze his opponents and use their weaknesses to his advantage. He knows how to tune out his captain's scoldings when he accidentally stayed up at night for far longer than he intended. He knows how to name the constellations in the sky, and he knows that the fastest neutron star in space spins around 700 times per second. He knows trivial things, little futile facts that he has bookmarked in his mind—like the sound of Hinata’s laugh, and the warmth of his hands.

He knows many things, but doesn’t know if anything can be comparable to the feeling of Hinata settled in his arms as he sings along to the song blasting from the powerful speakers in Portuguese, the vowels rolling off his tongue in smooth, practiced motions. One moment Oikawa was sitting on the side as he watched people dance and scream to the thumping bass of a cheery pop song, and the next moment the music had faded into something slower, softer, and Hinata was pulling him by the hand towards the dance floor, saying something about how this was his favorite song. Hinata had winded his arms around his neck and leaned his head down to Oikawa’s chest, swaying in a leisurely pace to the beat, and Oikawa let his hands fall down to the side of his hips. They were pressed against each other, something that wasn’t new to them, but somehow it feels intimately close in this context; as if this was a secret only the two of them shared.

He doesn’t know what Hinata is saying, but the warm, syrupy tone of voice so close to his ear has Oikawa shuddering. He never fully got to appreciate it in the morning because he was so tired, his head muddled with drowsiness, but now he was able to hear the highs and lows of his tone, the clear pronunciation that didn’t exist in their native tongue, and it makes Oikawa weak to the knees. The lyrics he couldn’t understand but felt entranced by, and Hinata’s voice he couldn’t help but want—as if he just offered him every single thing in this world through the subtle sounds.

Oikawa knows many things, but he doesn’t know the foreign songs Hinata’s come to love, and he thinks that maybe he can learn someday. He can learn this like how he learned all the others too; like how he learned about the sea. Like how he learned about beach volleyball, and about happiness, and about home.

  
  


* * *

  
  


“You don’t have to go with me,” Hinata whispers. The rustle of his clothes seemed abnormally loud in the vast silence of the spaces between them. The lull of the air conditioner continues to play in the corner of the room, and it makes Oikawa shiver a little in the kitchen. The apartment is still too cold.

“But I want to,” Oikawa mumbles, yawning despite himself. His muscles ached and his mouth tasted dry and it was too early for his comfort, but if he ignored all of this in favor of spending more time with Hinata, then no one needed to know other than himself.

“Ok,” Hinata nods and quietly plods to the entrance, slipping into his shoes. “It won’t take that long, so we can come back and watch some movies afterward.”

“I’m choosing the movies.”

“Is it about aliens again?”

“You know me so well Shouyou.”

Hinata offers him a teasing smile. “I don’t know if that’s a good thing or not.”

A gasp. “You wound me.”

Hinata laughs silently under his breath as Oikawa fumbles towards the entrance, and the adorable sound sends Oikawa’s heart aflutter. God, Oikawa never wanted to do anything more than kiss that smile, but he refrains. _Small steps_ , he reminds himself as he nearly trips while readjusting his shoes.

When they left, the city was already showing signs of waking up. People were frolicking about between food stalls with restaurants already spilling light outside, past the sun that hadn’t quite risen yet, and Oikawa thinks that it’s alive, pulsating with music that permeates the atmosphere. Dawn was rising, and the sky was painted in flecks of gold and rosy hues that showered the heavens with light. The sky is pink. The clouds are white. And Oikawa—

When they make it towards the relatively empty shores of the beach, Hinata takes off his shoes and wiggles his toes in the sand as if he was reacquainting himself with something lost, something forgotten despite him being here a day before. He stretches his arms and legs once, twice, thrice, movements fluid and natural out of habit, rhythmic and beating along with the city. It’s hypnotizing. When he finishes, he plops down onto the sand facing the sea, lotus position, and Hinata looks up at Oikawa with a curious gaze when he doesn’t move.

“Aren’t you going to join?” 

Oikawa wordlessly sits down beside him, copying the same position, and Hinata offers him a tiny smile before closing his eyes and breathing deeply, in and out. His shoulders relax and he looks—content, not in the way volleyball usually makes him feel. He looks like he’s free; as if he’s walking on air.

Oikawa doesn’t follow suit, and instead just stares at the person beside him for far longer than the sway of the tides, past when the hue of the sky shifted from pink to light blue, when the waves of his heart had spread into equilibrium. He studies the slope of Hinata’s nose, the way red dust his cheeks the color of autumn leaves, his sun-kissed skin and the tint of his lips. Once, twice, thrice, until seconds turn into minutes until time loses meaning, and Oikawa is utterly lost in his presence.

It isn’t until Hinata’s eyes flutter open that Oikawa becomes aware of his surroundings again. The sun is well above the sky now, and there’s the sound of people coming and going behind them. Has it been an hour already? Two? He isn’t sure.

“You feeling fine Tooru? Did you meditate all right?” Hinata asks beside him, his voice pleased and relaxed, brushing the sand sticking on his clothes away; and although Oikawa didn’t do anything other than stare at him for who knows how long, his mind hasn’t felt this much peace in a long, long time.

“Yeah,” Oikawa says, true, sincere, honest. His heart felt firm, stable, and he breathed out. “I think I’m okay now.”

  
  


* * *

  
  


(Hinata's smile is unchanging. And Oikawa was hopelessly in love.

_’I want this feeling to reach you. This feeling of being held by the gentle sea_.’)

* * *

  
  


"That was really fun!" Hinata exclaims as he lays down on the sand, feeling the ache in his bones starting to settle in. Oikawa sat beside him, smiling along as he wiped the sweat on his face with the collar of his shirt.

“Wow, so even you can get tired Shouyou.” The setter jests. 

“Of course I do, I’m not an alien!”

“It’ll be cool if you were though. Professional volleyball athlete hangs out with some short alien for a week, now that’s a story.”

Hinata squawks, “Who are you calling short! I’ll have you know that I grew two centimeters the past four months!”

Oikawa sniggers, patting Hinata’s head mockingly, “Wow, that’s so tall. Before you know it you might even reach my chest.”

“You’re so mean,” Hinata slaps his hand away and turns, petulant. 

“Thanks, I get that alot.” Oikawa grins and shifts a bit, resting alongside him.

The sun had long sunk below the horizon, and the sky was clear with only the moon watching as a lone bystander. In the serenade of the infinite night, the countless stars are singing a wistful tune, and from the beyond rides a horse of pure silver light. Under this one singularity in the still darkness, there lies two people connected in a twist of fate.

"You're leaving tomorrow, right?" Hinata asks slowly, his voice tinged with a certain sadness, a farewell to those at the ends of the earth. It's a parting from a chance encounter, of long lost friends walking on a split path, and it's painful and bittersweet all at once. 

They had met at their lowest points and had to separate yet again when they were growing dependent on the support the other provided. It was fortunate that they were so close to each other; to know that they weren't alone in this foreign world anymore.

“Yeah. I have to leave early with my team tomorrow.” Oikawa scowls at the thought, feeling a migraine starting to form just from mentioning it alone.

"When are you free again?"

Oikawa ponders for a moment. "My schedule should be free in about a month. We have some practice matches with the other teams, but other than that I don’t really have much else.”

“Then can you visit again? If not, I can come over," Hinata beams, the darkness that plagued his face swept clean from the slate as if it was never there, and Oikawa huffs out in fond exasperation. 

“You sure you’re willing to go that far?" Oikawa asks because he knows that he isn't the most interesting person to hang around. He doesn't have the humor that can make others laugh like Hanamaki, or the trustworthy aura that Iwaizumi has despite his scary face that implies otherwise. His past failing relationships were evident of that.

"Yup!" The reply was immediate.

"It might be boring."

"I doubt that."

"I might be a terrible tourist guide."

"Then I'll call customer service and ask for a refund."

Oikawa snorted. “You might regret this."

“Of course not. Spending time with you is worth it," Hinata insists, like a fact, as if there wasn't a more undeniable truth in the world. 

And Oikawa breathes in and out, and feels himself tremble. 

Hinata blinks, and suddenly Oikawa is looming over him with his hands placed beside his head, covering him from the moonlight streaming above. Oikawa's eyes shift around his face slowly, his gaze nearly scalding as if searching for an answer from his features.

This was the last day before he had to leave Brazil.

Oikawa’s never been good with possibilities. He refused Ushijima's invitation to go to Shiratorizawa, a clear cut path towards nationals, because of his worthless pride. He declined multiple invitations from renowned teams in Japan to fly across the world with the hope of becoming something more. And he never told his only crush about his feelings and ran away like a coward.

But Oikawa grew, and he changed. He knows of the bitter taste of regret that refuses to leave, and the unmoving dreams that he can never quite wash away no matter how many times he tries. He knows, and he wishes, and he hopes that this simple supplication would be answered.

Oikawa bends over Hinata like a sinner at an altar, stripped of all pretense, open bare and begging for the gods above to hear his prayers: _please let me have this chance of happiness. Please accept me for who I am. Please let me love you._

The moon floating on the water's surface does not answer. Hinata peers at him through his long lashes and Oikawa becomes enthralled at the sight, breathing in the moonlight that fills his stomach with bursting stars. Eyes never leaving Hinata’s form, Oikawa slowly lifts his hand to Hinata’s cheeks, who nuzzles at the warmth from his palm, and Oikawa feels his heart stutter against his ribcage. Hinata Shouyou, who admired him and looked at him as if he was the one who created the moon, who taught him that feelings didn't have to be so complicated, who laughed at his shitty jokes and humored him even when he was being bratty and insufferable. How could Oikawa not be affected? How could he not fall in love?

Just as Hinata enraptured him with his very presence in the past, Oikawa could feel the same feelings of longing and want running through his veins, a familiar ebb and flow of the tides gravitating towards the moon. Except now, Hinata’s here in his hands, showing him that he didn’t need to ask any god for happiness when he was right there to give him everything he could ever ask for.

“What are you doing to me?” Oikawa whispers slowly, softly, letting the words seep into his skin and opening his chest apart. The sky is dripping with blue, onto the sea, onto the sand, and on the apples of Hinata’s cheeks. He was a sun burning in the spaces between his ribs, and Oikawa was enraptured in his orbit. He wondered, briefly, of what they would become if they collided.

“I should be the one asking you that, Tooru,” Hinata laughs breathlessly, wrapping his arms around Oikawa’s neck. The contact burns Oikawa’s skin alive. There was a fire raging in his soul, and Hinata's mere presence fans the flames until it consumes him whole.

Oikawa was a setter for San Juan, but before that he was human.

Oikawa was human, but before that, he was in love.

Oikawa was in love, and he let himself drown in the softness of Hinata’s lips, savoring the closeness, so gentle as if any harder would break him. This single contact made electricity arc down his spine, made his head spin until he couldn't tell where he was, only knowing that it was real. It’s soft and dizzying, slow and steady, and he’s melting from the sweetness of it all. It tasted like home.

They part, but they remain close, and Hinata looks positively contact drunk, his eyes half-lidded and panting softly. And Oikawa has always been weak towards Hinata, so he leans down again and presses their lips together, slowly, softly. Again and again, until he could taste nothing but Hinata, everything that he loved about him, everything that he dreamt about him. 

Oikawa breathes.

“I love you.” A gentle kiss was planted on Hinata’s forehead. 

“I know.” 

“I like you. I adore you,” All the words that couldn't be hidden washed up on the shore, transparent shards of sea glass reflecting the rays of the sun.

“Me too.” Hinata’s lashes fluttered like butterfly wings as Oikawa’s lips trailed down to his cheeks.

“Shouyou, Shouyou, Shouyou.”

“I’m here,” There was a flush on Hinata's face, bright and beautiful, and Oikawa marveles at the fact that _he_ was the cause of this. 

"You're so cute," Oikawa says, absolutely smitten. Hinata squeaks adorably as his face is barraged with more kisses, and his hands fly up to cover his face in a vain attempt of self-preservation. It's such a stark contrast of his usual confident and outgoing demeanor that it leaves Oikawa craving more. Oikawa has always been a greedy man after all.

“Shouyou,” Oikawa cooes, voice teasingly light. His eyes glimmered with mirth, and a deep chuckle escaped his lips. “Why are you hiding your pretty face?”

“You-You know! Don’t act clueless, Tooru!”

“I seriously don’t know what’s going on. I’m just trying to show my love to the guy I like, yet he’s coldly rejecting my affections. I’m heartbroken, Shouyou. I don’t know what I did wrong,” Oikawa dramatically sighs, his head drooping down to rest on Shouyou’s collarbones. “I’m so sad and lonely over here. If only someone could placate poor little me. Preferably with kisses…”

There isn’t any sound above him. The tides recede from the shores, and the stars above them aren’t the same ones Oikawa was raised under.

That was okay. They didn’t need to be.

A soft, brief brush of the lips ghosts over the top of his head. It was a whisper of a sound, the faintest ripple over a still pond, but it makes Oikawa overwhelmed as if he's drowning in a tsunami. Even this small thing could affect him so greatly.

Oikawa's smile is soft, his eyes softer, and his heart softest. Loving Hinata had always been easy.

“Does this mean we’re boyfriends?”

This was a topic they have been carefully avoiding up until now; because even if they had gone on pseudo dates and had feelings for the other, they both knew that a long-distance relationship was a difficult hurdle to cross—more so that Oikawa was a professional athlete who frequently traveled around the globe. Hinata himself had already attached himself to this place, and Oikawa didn’t even have the heart to suggest to him to come back with him to Argentina. Because no matter how Oikawa looked at it, volleyball was Hinata’s love, and Brazil was his home. 

And even if this long-distance thing miraculously works, what then? Oikawa couldn’t help but let the tiny sliver of doubt nestle in his heart, a creeping thought passing through his mind. What if Hinata regrets this? What if he realizes how ugly and twisted Oikawa was inside, and left him? What if he grew tired of him? It was scary how much power he held over him; how easily he could break his heart into a million pieces with a few words and leave him without ever looking back. 

He didn’t want to be alone again.

But Hinata knows. As much as Oikawa has been studying him, watching him while his back was turned away, Hinata has done the same thing to him as well. He sees the insecurities, the kind of thoughts hidden in Oikawa's eyes, and his hands cradling the setter's cheeks tells him of stories that words can't. Hinata's lips give him the love that he craves, and his single nod—a smile just as kind, his feelings just as real—gives him the reassurance that lays his worries to rest.

“Of course. After all, I love you, Tooru. And have been for quite a while now.” Hinata admits shyly, a bashful grin on his face. His eyes were very, very bright.

“You took the words right out of my mouth,” Oikawa laughs breathlessly, his heart so utterly full that it’s overflowing, unable to be contained in his chest.

He loves Shouyou. And he was loved in return. 

Oikawa leans his forehead against Hinata’s— _his boyfriend, his lover, his undeniable, his inevitable_ —and falls like a wishing star.

Each kiss was a breath away from nirvana.  
  


* * *

  
  


_("Every time we meet and part again, my love for you just grows.")_

* * *

  
Oikawa looks at the man beside him, wrapped in the covers with his eyes closed and his soft lips parted just slightly. 

No matter how much he watched, Oikawa couldn’t process the irrefutable fact that the ethereal beauty in front of him was his, and that he was blessed to kiss him whenever he wished; to hug him, to love him, to worship him like he deserved, marking his skin with his name and lips in the comfort of the night. 

For this one night, he was able to pour everything he felt for his lover, to be able to take him apart wholly and completely in his hands. To let Hinata know just how much he loves him, and for him to accept it, to drown in this euphoria and pleasure he gave, for this sweet innocence to transform into gentle sin, knowing that this wasn’t the end.

His phone buzzes with a notification, and Oikawa reaches out for it on the nightstand. The lamp on the bedside is the only thing that lights up the inky darkness of the room, and he gazes at the reminder glaring back at him in bolded words. 

**Fly back to Argentina.**

His flight was to set off at nine a.m. Oikawa shuffles out of the bed, making sure to be as quiet as possible, and prepares for his departure. His luggage was already packed at the hotel, so he just had to clean up, grab his things before leaving with his team to the airport.

Hinata must’ve woken up while Oikawa was picking up the clothes on the floor because there’s a rustle and a soft, throaty groan coming out underneath the messy blanket.

“Are you leaving?” Hinata whispers, and Oikawa hums as he picks up his clothes from the floor. 

“Mhm. It’s six a.m Shouyou. You should sleep some more,” He still had to meet up with his teammates at his hotel, and check with his manager to make sure that everything was packed up and ready. 

Hinata shook his head and pushed himself up from his bed, letting the covers slip down and showing off his mark covered skin. Oikawa's breath hitches just slightly.

“I’ll make you coffee before you leave,” Hinata says as he slips on a shirt. His movements are sluggish, sleepiness still present in his voice, and Oikawa watches fondly as he reaches out for the shorter to plant a kiss on his forehead.

“Are you sure, Shouyou? You barely slept,” Oikawa drifts his fingers down Hinata’s nape, rubbing the marks he left behind with a sort of awe that couldn't be contained. The memories were still vivid underneath his eyelids, and it was one that he couldn’t forget even if he tried to. Not that he would, because it was a side that Hinata had only shown to him and him alone, and Oikawa would treasure this with everything he had like the most precious gem in a dragon’s hoard.

“Of course I want to see you before you leave, silly. Now go take a shower," Hinata lets him indulge for just a second, his face heating up in slight embarrassment before he pushes him towards the bathroom. Oikawa relents, but not without stealing a quick peck on the lips first. Hinata giggles, and Oikawa melts.

When Oikawa leaves the shower with dried hair and new clothes, he immediately drags his lifeless body towards Hinata and hugs him from behind. Hinata doesn’t flinch, and instead just hands over the freshly brewed coffee near his face.

“You’re a lifesaver, Shouyou.”

“I try.”

Lazy, chaste kisses are exchanged in the quiet of the sunrise, away from the clamor of the outside world into their own bubble. The air conditioner is buzzing in the corner, making the apartment a little too cold, and sunlight is bouncing off cream colored walls into Hinata’s irises. It gleams on the soft lines of his cheeks, his plump lips, the sharpness of his jaw; and Oikawa traces the shadows of joy staining his bronze skin with his gaze. He thinks that he can live in this moment forever.

Oikawa places a lingering kiss on his boyfriend’s lips, and he loves, and he is loved with the unbridled joy of those returning home. Hinata scrunches his nose at the bitter taste of coffee that stains his mouth, and Oikawa gives a deep, throaty laugh.

“I should probably get going now.” Oikawa places the empty cup in the sink and checks the time on his phone. His teammates are already sending him various messages and thinly veiled threats to come over, and he didn’t know if he could handle all of them at once if he made them wait any longer.

Hinata perks up slightly, “Ah! Wait a minute, I have something to give you.” He pads over to his pantry and fishes through the items, tongue peeking out in concentration.

"Ah! Here," Oikawa blinks at the snack handed to him, slack-jawed and dazed when the familiar Japanese packaging stares back at him.

"Is this… milk bread?" Even when it's been years, he could still vividly remember his favorite brand of milk bread. The image of him and his old team going by the convenience store near Seijoh flickers in his mind, and the taste of nostalgia feels light on his tongue. His mother always said that he was too sentimental for his own good.

"Yeah. It was kind of hard to ship it over, but I knew that this was your favorite food so I bought some. They're pretty good," Hinata beams, as if he hadn’t placed back a forgotten fragment of time that Oikawa missed dearly. As if he wasn’t the best person to ever exist in this universe. He nearly yelps when Oikawa wraps his arms around his waist and spins him around in a circle. 

"God, I love you so much," Oikawa says, something akin to devotion and wonder in his voice. Hinata was absolutely perfect. How could someone so—so amazing? It's only been a day since they started officially dating, but Oikawa might ask for his hand in marriage right then and there. 

"I love you too," Hinata laughs, because he understands everything Oikawa feels, in his touches and his eyes and his silence. He’s a star and he’s shining, undulating in the spaces between his chest, causing the valleys between Oikawa’s ribs to bloom into spring. They both stay like that even if the outside world stirs, wrapped in each other's embrace with feelings shared, love grown, closely aware of the ticking clock behind their back.

“I can’t help but already miss you when you’re still here,” Hinata murmurs into his shirt. He’s never been hard to read before, but this is new. There’s something heavy in his eyes. A little sad, a little dejected, maybe. 

“I’ll come back,” Oikawa promises, his grip tightening around Hinata’s waist, in the same voice he declares victory in matches. In the same voice he’d declared when he confessed. Passionate. Intense. Alive.

“I know,” Hinata responds, and that was all they needed.

This was an undeniable fact—a truth unable to be disputed: Oikawa Tooru was not a genius. He did not have the innate talent to make pinpoint accurate tosses, nor did he have a natural prowess to dominate. However, this also holds true: Oikawa Tooru was human, and Oikawa Tooru was a man in love with volleyball— a man in love with a star called Hinata Shouyou. There was no need to choose one over the other when he could have _Hinata-and-volleyball-and-the-world._

When the man in love leaves the home he grew to understand, he walks away with a memory in hand and a precious promise in the other.

Maybe this was just a temporary thing. Something that wasn’t meant to last in the grand scheme of the ever-expanding universe. A moment in passing in Oikawa Tooru's life, one that already had its predetermined conclusion. An ending that wasn’t written with Hinata Shouyou by his side.

But Oikawa was going to make sure that this beautiful thing between them, made from the fragments of falling stars and the cherished warmth of the present, would last a lifetime. He was going to make sure that no matter how long it took and how many steps he had to take to climb up the tall, looming wall; one day, he would come back, and he would stay. Because he loves Hinata, and Hinata will always be a home to him.

  
  


* * *

  
  


The enthusiastic cheer of the audience reverberates through the walls of the stadium, and the muffled voices of the announcer preludes to the events about to come. There are people walking around with quick steps, hurrying over to their destination and clamoring to get everything prepared for the match. In the middle of it all is a team clad in light blue, their tall backs filled with vigor and impenetrable strength.

The energy in the waiting room is buzzing and electrifying, but it isn't from the usual anticipation that sparks before an official game. It’s a rush of murmurs and grins, and Oikawa can feel all his teammates looking at him at where he’s sat on the bench, his right leg fidgeting slightly in a mix of anxiousness and unease. His heart is pulsing rapidly, and countless thoughts barrage his mind as relentless as it was loud.

This was it. This one moment, this stage where he dreamed of for so long was finally in front of him. This was his first time as a member of the Argentine National Team in the Olympics—and they were against Japan. Japan, where his old friends and rivals were; Japan, where his lover was. Everything hinges on what will happen when he walks on the court, and once done it can never be undone.

“You ready, Oikawa?” His captain asks, locking gazes with him. He places his hand on Oikawa’s shoulder reassuringly, and it takes a moment for his constant fidgeting to recede a bit. The room is quiet, still, waiting for his reaction, and Oikawa observes the various expressions of expectation and excitement adorning his teammates' faces. 

It takes a moment for him to calm down, to cool his head and bring back his usual demeanor. He closes his eyes and thinks of sunsets, and the sea, and a home that was just within his reach. He thinks of warm hands and an even warmer laugh, of a voice as sweet as honey and eyes that hold liquid gold. When his nervousness ebbs into something more relaxed, he stands up from the bench and holds his head high. Passionate. Determined. Alive.

Oikawa grins at his team, bright and confident, and says with his usual grandeur, “Of course. Who do you think I am?”

His team laughs and crowd around him, ruffling his head and patting his shoulders in a frenzy. The encouragement soothes him and lifts his spirits until he’s weightless, and he laughs with them as they start cheering loud enough for everyone in the halls to hear. Flames of determination burst in their hearts, burning bright with their will to win, and Oikawa lets himself get swept up in their enthusiasm. He loves this feeling, yearns for it. This is something he knows, something he is used to and has intimately become familiar with like the back of his hand. He has been through this a hundred, a thousand times before, and he will go through it again a thousand more in the future. He was used to this all—all except for one thing, that is.

When someone knocks on their door to signal their turn, they all face Oikawa with smiles filled with pride. His captain gives him a toothy grin and pushes him to the front when they prepare to leave, his touch filled with unyielding security and support that are larger than life.

“It’s your time to shine, Toto.”

The crowd’s cheering soars higher when their turn is announced. Oikawa breathes slowly, deeply. He thinks of blue seas and tender smiles and bright stars, and walks out to the court with his team behind his back, a small ring box gripped tightly in his palm.

  
  
  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> lol oihina brazil brainrot go brrrrrrr they fall in love i guess
> 
> Here’s some [fanart](https://twitter.com/kissxian/status/1284489738536259584?s=19) I posted alongside this fic, and another [short brazil oihina comic](https://twitter.com/kissxian/status/1261616022525804544?s=21) I did in the past.  
> Tell me your thoughts and questions ♡ Feedback is always appreciated! 
> 
> [ [Twitter](https://mobile.twitter.com/kissxian?s=09) ] [ [Curious Cat](https://curiouscat.me/kissxian) ]


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